


Something About Us

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: SAU-niverse [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Harry is a Little Shit, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Merlin is repressed, but theyre both trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 11:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11690295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: "Tell me something about us."It should be an easy enough question to answer. But it's harder than expected.





	Something About Us

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of the trailer were used for inspiration, but by the time the movie comes out I suspect pretty much all of it will be negated.  
> This isn't Brit-picked, so I apologize for any issues with it.
> 
> Edit: the incredible Mang_o made a playlist! It's [ here ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13021029) if you'd like to listen (and I highly recommend you do).

Harry’s frown is what undoes Merlin. Or maybe it’s the formal handshake when all Merlin really wants to do is crush him into a tight hug. Or maybe it’s the uncertain way that Harry defers to Eggsy, still a stranger to him but one he met before Merlin, as if double checking that he is actually supposed to know him. Or maybe it’s all of those things at once. Regardless of the exact cause, Merlin’s heart shatters into a million pieces and scatters across the carpeted floor of Statesman’s meeting room.

“We were colleagues?” Harry’s heel grinds firmly over the broken shards and crushes them to dust.

Part of Merlin wants to nod and leave it at that. He isn’t demonstrative, never has been, and they’re all looking at him. Ginger has a nervous smile, Whiskey and Tequila have matching looks of masked surprise, and Champ is leaning back in his chair, his expression blank. Christ, even Eggsy is glancing back and forth between him and Harry like he expects Merlin to pull himself together and go back to being the silent, stoic pillar of Kingsman he’s long since established himself as being. The two feet of space that separates Merlin from the love of his life may as well be the ocean they flew across to get here.

But he doesn’t nod. Because he can’t. Because this is Harry. So he says, very quietly, “We were. But not just colleagues. We were friends. Best friends. And we were partners.”

Harry’s frown deepens, even as Eggsy raises his eyebrows. “Partners?” Harry asks slowly. “Partners in what way?”

“In every way,” Merlin says, because that’s the truth and because that’s how Harry always liked to phrase it. _You’re not just my partner on missions or at home, Merlin. You’re my partner in every way and in everything._

Ginger clears her throat, “You were a couple?”

This time, Merlin simply nods. Harry glances at Eggsy, who’s too busy staring at Merlin in shock to react to him, and the dust is swept up by a typhoon and thrown back mockingly in Merlin’s face. There really is no other explanation for the sudden stinging in his eyes.

***

“How long were we together?”

Merlin looks up. Harry is leaning against the doorway, finally out of that cowboy getup and back into a crisp bespoke suit. He tugs self-consciously on the cuffs of his shirt and adjusts the glasses that hide his bad eye. He waves a hand in Merlin’s direction, a ghost of a familiar gesture that twists at Merlin’s stomach, “You said we were a couple, and I find I’m inclined to believe you. I can’t explain it. I don’t remember much of anything at all, not the training I supposedly have or my name or why I keep dreaming about butterflies, and I certainly don’t remember you. But when I look at you, I feel like I’m coming home. It’s a peculiar feeling, but I think I like it.”

Merlin is a professional. They have a mission to prepare for, and his focus on that is the only thing that keeps him from latching onto Harry’s words and never letting go. “I’m not sure this is the best time to be discussing...us,” he says carefully. “Are you ready to go?”

Harry waves off his concern, so like his old self that for a minute Merlin forgets what they’re talking about. “Just because I don’t recall acquiring the skills doesn’t mean the muscle memory has disappeared. I’m ready for whatever Poppy has to throw at us.”

“Are you sure?”

A flicker of doubt crosses Harry’s face, and Merlin wonders if he remembers any of his last mission. Every second of it is seared into Merlin’s brain, from the moment all hell broke loose at the church to Harry’s glasses staring up at the sky, flickering, and going dark. He wonders if Harry remembers, even if it’s just because someone told him, that the last time they had to save the world he got shot.

Harry’s voice, however, is the picture of confidence when he responds, “I’m sure.”

Merlin nods towards the door, “Then you’d best get going.” He taps the side of his glasses, activates the feed. Statesman’s tech is just as gorgeous as what he was accustomed to at Kingsman, and the monitor beside him blinks to life, reflecting his own face back at him from Harry’s glasses as Harry watches him. Merlin looks impassive, empty. He looks away from both the screen and Harry. “Don’t want to keep Eggsy waiting.”

Harry nods, and turns to leave. Merlin isn’t sure what possesses him in that moment, but whatever it is has him calling out, “Wait.”

Harry pauses. Doesn’t turn back.

“We got together about thirty years ago,” Merlin says. “I suppose that’s twenty-eight years, unless you want to count the past two where you were...” He can’t finish that sentence.

Harry nods in understanding. Still doesn’t look at him. Walks away. Merlin watches him go, and then turns to the monitor. Ginger passes by Harry, who smiles politely at her, and then steps into the room. “Ready?” she asks.

“I’m always ready,” Merlin says. It’s his job.

***

“Tell me something about us.”

Merlin startles. The feed had been quiet, video shut down after Eggsy’s whooping confirmation that they’d saved the world. Again. Harry and Eggsy should be on the plane, Eggsy probably passed out if Merlin knows anything about the young agent and Harry...well, it’s been two years since Merlin’s handled a mission with Harry, but he still knows his rituals. Eggsy’s adrenaline rush crashes almost instantly and he falls asleep the moment he’s out of danger, but the buzz always stays with Harry much longer. In their earlier years it made for sex in a lot of interesting places.

“Merlin?” Harry asks into the silence, jerking Merlin away from that train of thought. “Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Oh. So?”

“So what?”

Harry sighs. His voice in Merlin’s ear again feels so unreal that he almost misses the man’s next words. “We couldn’t talk before,” he says, “but Eggsy’s asleep and I can’t...I can’t stop thinking.” He laughs, a jitty, high-pitched, nervous laugh, “I can’t stop thinking about us, about how you remember everything and I’m...I have nothing to go on. I want...everything feels new to me, and I can’t just jump back into every aspect of my old life like I was never away, but I want...it’s not fair to you and I _want_ to remember. I really do.” He clears his throat, and his voice is level again when he says, “So tell me something about us. Anything.”

That...Merlin suddenly doesn’t know what to say. In two years he spent so much time thinking about Harry, thinking about the nuance and details of their relationship, but now he doesn’t know how to respond.

“Merlin? Are you still there?”

“You collect butterflies,” Merlin blurts out. “Dead ones, in shadow boxes. That’s why you’re dreaming about them. I got you the first one as a joke for our first Christmas together, and you decided you liked them enough to keep going.” Like a coward, he doesn’t let Harry respond, just shuts down the feed and tries not to hyperventilate in his chair. He doesn’t know if he can do this.

Butterflies represent resurrection. He wonders if Harry gets the irony.

***

“Tell me something about us.”

Merlin glances up as Harry drops into the seat across from him. They’ve said their goodbyes to the Statesman, and while Merlin wouldn’t mind staying in America a little bit longer to catch their collective breath, Kingsman won’t rebuild itself. No longer hiding and tracking down the other missing agents, Roxy is currently holding down the fort, as relayed when she made contact shortly before take-off, and Merlin is immensely relieved that he won’t have to train his third Lancelot. There’s been enough death.

Harry crosses his legs and cocks his head, “Merlin?”

Eggsy’s on the other end of the plane. It’s possible he’s listening in, but his headphones are on and his eyes are closed so Merlin figures he’s safe. “Is this what we are now?” he asks.

“Beg your pardon?”

“You asking me about our currently non-existent relationship in the hopes that it’ll jog your memory.”

Harry looks a bit hurt. Merlin doesn’t know how he still manages to be more expressive with one eye than Merlin’s parents were the entire time he was growing up. “I’m sorry,” Merlin says.

“For what?” Harry snaps. “You’re not the one who lost everything.”

They stare at each other for a minute, and then it’s Harry’s turn to apologize, “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what this is like for you.”

“I’m not the one without my memory.”

“No, but you thought I was dead, only to recover me and find out that I don’t remember you at all. That’s can’t be easy.”

Merlin shifts uncomfortably, “Let’s not play this game, okay? We both got a pretty raw deal, but that’s life.”

Harry nods, “Fair enough.” When Merlin lapses back into silence, Harry seems to take it as his cue to leave the tech wizard to his thoughts.

When Harry stands up, Merlin says softly, “We slept together three times before you asked me out on a proper date.”

Harry glances down at him, but Merlin looks out the window to avoid his gaze, and Harry walks down the aisle to sit next to Eggsy.

***

“Tell me something about us.”

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut in the hopes that when he opens them, Harry won’t be there. It doesn’t work, and he turns to face the newly instated Galahad (at Eggsy’s insistence; he said that three decades trumps threeish years, and he happily took Gawain’s now-vacant title and seat at the table). Harry looks simultaneously out of place and perfectly at home in Kingsman’s temporary headquarters. Rebuilding is a work in progress, but designing things is Merlin’s specialty and the new complex and store promises to be much more indestructible than the previous ones. But it’s been taking a lot of his time and effort lately (thank god he finally convinced Percival, their only remaining long-standing agent, to take over officially as Arthur, because if Merlin had to play king and wizard any longer he was going to have a nervous breakdown) and he’s really not in the mood to deal with his amnesiac sort-of-ex-boyfriend.

“Can this wait?” he asks. “I’m sort of in the middle of something.”

Harry wanders over to his desk and pokes at the blueprints spread out across it. Merlin resists the urge to bat his hand away, because Harry still has a hair trigger when it comes to people attacking him. He nearly choked Eggsy to death when the boy had patted him on the back. He’s a long way from full agent status, but he’s alright enough to hang around and make a nuisance of himself.

“What’s all this?” he asks.

“Designs for the new compound,” Merlin explains. He makes sure Harry sees him coming before he carefully nudges his hand off the desk.

It doesn’t deter him. “Is this what the old one looked like?”

“Similar. I’m sure there are photos somewhere. Ask Percival. Sorry, Arthur.”

“Don’t you have any?”

Merlin sighs and pushes his chair away from the desk, swivelling to look at Harry, “I really am busy.”

“Have you been avoiding me?”

The honest answer is yes. Harry’s been staying with Eggsy and his family in his old house, the official reason being that it might help him remember something and the unofficial reason being that the other option is him coming home with Merlin, and that’s not so much an option as it is a death sentence for Merlin. Harry isn’t _his_ anymore. There’s no reason to remind Merlin of it at every turn.

But Merlin’s also a very good liar. “I’m not avoiding you. I’ve been busy.”

There’s a moment where it looks like Harry might call him on it, but then the moment passes. “I’ll leave you to it then,” Harry says softly, and he moves to leave the office.

For some reason, it’s easier to talk when Harry’s back is turned and he’s walking away, so Merlin provides what Harry had shown up for in the first place. “It took you five years to admit how much you hated my cooking. It worked for me, because I hated to cook.”

There’s that pause, a new gesture that Merlin is learning means ‘I understood what you said and am processing it,’ and then Harry disappears out the doorway.

***

“Tell me something about us.”

Merlin gapes, because it’s one in the morning and Harry is on his doorstep and of course the man is eccentric enough to get an eyepatch that matches those stupid yellow butterfly pyjamas Merlin could never convince him to get rid of. His hair is plastered to his face, like he’s just been come from the shower (Merlin assumes, because it’s not raining), and he looks a little wild. He’s not wearing any shoes.

“How did you get here?” Merlin asks, because he has a lot of questions and that’s the only one he can manage to get out.

“I just sort of...did,” Harry says. “I don’t know. I just needed to see you, and I...came here.”

“You remembered?”

“Yes?” Harry runs his fingers through his damp curls. “No? I don’t know. Can I come in?”

Merlin steps back, and Harry crosses the threshold for the first time in over two years. He doesn’t so much as glance around at the decor, finding the sofa either by instinct or by chance, and settles himself down on it. Merlin takes the armchair and waits for Harry to speak first.

“I remembered something,” Harry said softly after a while. “Not...not much. Just a flash, a thought. I don’t know if it’s real, or if I just imagined it, but I needed someone who could tell me, so…”

“So you came here,” Merlin finishes for him. He doesn’t know if he can make eye contact with Harry, his mind racing with the revelation that Harry’s memories could be coming back, so he focuses on one of the butterflies on his shoulder instead.

“Yes,” Harry says, like it’s that simple.

“What did you remember?”

“I…” Harry swallows audibly and explains, “I don’t sleep well, lately.”

“I know. Eggsy’s mentioned it.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause, then Harry continues, “I can’t really remember the dream. It’s not clear, just a lot of blood and then darkness, but I assume it has something to do with...me getting shot. I woke up, and before I really knew what I was doing I was washing my hands and hair, trying to scrub the blood out of it.” He gestures vaguely to the left side of his head. “I looked up and I caught my reflection in the mirror, and I sort of caught myself chuckling and I thought ‘This is just like Prague.’ Except I haven’t the faintest clue what that means.”

Merlin did. He clears his throat, steeling himself and looking up into Harry’s face. The other man looks uneasy and expectant. “Do you want to know?”

Harry nods.

Merlin leans back in the armchair and sighs, “About ten years ago, you had a mission in Prague. It was supposed to be simple, just basic reconnaissance, but it went horribly wrong.”

“You...you said you were my primary handler? Were you with me on that one?”

“No,” Merlin shakes his head, “I was busy with Kay and Tristan, working a more complicated mission that involved a great deal of hacking and more double crossing than I really would have liked.” If he had been with Harry, maybe everything wouldn’t have gone sideways, but Merlin had long since learned that dwelling on the past only left more ghosts to haunt you, and he had plenty of those as it was. “Like I said, your mission was only supposed to be recon. Your cover was blown, and Arthur gave the order to avoid capture at all costs. The cartel you were investigating...they weren't particularly bothered by civilian casualties. It was a bloodbath. You had nightmares for months.” It was one of the worst missions Harry had ever undertaken, at least in terms of psychological effect. The agent had refused to touch Merlin the first week he was back, and it had taken a great deal of coaxing to convince Harry that he wasn't going to soil Merlin with the blood on his hands.

Harry is quiet, thinking over that information. Eventually he says, “I’ve killed a lot of people, haven’t I?”

“Yes.” Merlin isn’t going to sugar-coat it. That’s never been his way. “But most of them were bad people doing bad things. It’s a hazard of the job.”

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

“Yep.” Merlin’s killed a lot of people, both in person and remotely, and while it’s not anywhere near as many as Harry, it’s still more than enough for a lifetime. However, he doesn’t elaborate.

Harry accepts the answer and settles back against the couch, glancing around the room for the first time. “This is nice. I’m assuming I’ve been here before?”

“You have,” Merlin confirmed. “You wanted to help with the decor, but I wouldn’t let you. You did most of Eggsy’s house, the butterflies and the dead dog and the coins on the walls. I wasn’t about to let you anywhere near so much as a paint can.”

Harry manages a small smile. “So, we were a couple, but we lived apart?”

“You spent a lot of nights here, and I spent a lot of nights at your house, but we weren’t exactly open about our relationship. It would have looked odd if we lived together.” Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask.

“Why didn’t we tell anyone we were a couple?”

Damn. Merlin sighs, “That was mainly my doing. I was never as comfortable being gay as you were. My...family. It was difficult for me to come to terms with it.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Merlin feels the echo of the last time he had this conversation with Harry, curled up in bed together after a tricky mission in Harry’s third year as an agent nearly cost him his life. “Kingsman wasn’t the safest place to be out, especially when we first joined up, and I convinced you to keep it secret. And it stayed that way. You sometimes talked about coming out as a couple, getting married, but I was too scared.” Admitting it is hard, but Harry needs to know.

“Do you regret it?”

Merlin shrugs, “Yes and no. Things could have been very bad for us if we came out when we first got together. But...hiding like that takes a toll. And I wish we’d told _someone_ before...before you got shot.”

Harry mulls that over for a minute, and then asks, “I wanted to get married?”

“You did. We talked about it sometimes, fought over it more like. I think you might have even bought rings at one point.” Merlin can’t tell the whole truth just yet, so he settles for part of it. He just wants this conversation to be over. He’s exhausted, not just from the topic, but because, his body sharply reminds him, it’s almost two in the morning.

Harry seems to catch on. “I should...probably...go.” He stands.

Merlin stands too, and hears himself say, “You don’t have to leave.”

“I couldn’t possibly put you out.”

“I have a guest bedroom, Harry. You can sleep there.”

Harry nods, “Alright, then. Lead the way.”

Merlin ignores the twinge in his chest at the thought that, at one point, Harry knew the layout of Merlin’s house as well as his own, down to every hidden panel and switch, and leads him up to the guest room. Harry frowns when he takes in the boxes piled up on the side of the room and Merlin explains, “Your things. I had most of it taken from Eggsy’s house when he moved in. There’s a bit more in my room, but this is most of it.”

“Right,” Harry says. “That makes sense.” He walks to the centre of the room, looking around, and eyes the bed. Then he turns back to Merlin, “You know, you didn’t answer me.”

“What?”

“When I first walked in.”

Merlin casts his mind back, and the rolls his eyes, “I think I’ve told you plenty about us tonight, Harry.” But the man pulls out his puppy-dog eyes (well, eye) and Merlin gives in. He thinks about it for a moment, and then says, “When we had been together for five years, you tried to introduce me to your family. I got angry, and we had a fight that lasted a month. We only made up after you got shot in the leg in Vienna and almost died of blood loss.”

“I almost die quite often, it seems.”

“That you do,” Merlin agrees. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Merlin.”

Merlin closes the door on him and goes back to his own bedroom. He pulls open the top drawer of his nightstand and stares at the box inside for several long minutes. He reaches in, and then hesitates and withdraws his hand. He turns off the light, but it’s a long time before sleep finds him again.

***

“Tell me something about us.”

Harry has his elbows propped up on Merlin’s kitchen table, watching him with interest. Merlin had been a bit surprised to find him still there in the morning, and he recognized the suit Harry’s wearing as one from the boxes in the guest room.

Merlin plops a bowl and a box of cereal down in front of him, because he’s not going to cook breakfast for Harry. That’s a disaster waiting to happen, and Merlin has enough disaster in his day to day life. “You really should be more specific,” he says.

Harry shrugs, “I think the randomness helps. Last night, after the first memory, a couple things started trickling in. Nothing major, just little snippets of training, a bit of my family, that sort of thing. Nothing about you yet, but I’m hopeful.”

“You want to remember me?”

“Of course,” Harry says. “I’m only blind in the one eye, you know. I can see the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking. I clearly meant a lot to you, and I think you meant a great deal to me as well. A bullet robbed me of those memories, and I’d like them back. The fact that I’m starting to remember things again is a good sign, I think. I’m very hopeful it will all turn out alright.”

“I hope that your hope is well founded,” Merlin says. Privately, he doesn’t allow himself to contemplate it too hard. Wishes, in his experience, rarely come true. Even if the love of his life is back from the dead. You can only expect so many miracles in one lifetime.

“So?”

Merlin rolls his eyes and thinks. “You missed our tenth Christmas together. You were on an undercover mission in Switzerland. You came back on New Year’s with a bouquet of white roses and a literal pound of Swiss chocolate as an apology.”

“Did you forgive me?”

“Of course I forgave you,” Merlin says. “You can’t exactly help your missions. And the copious amounts of make-up sex didn’t hurt.”

Harry grins at him, shameless as always, and something relaxes in Merlin. His Harry is still there, underneath it all.

Butterflies also symbolize hope. Merlin doesn’t mention that to Harry either.

***

“I’ll trade you.”

Merlin frowns at the screen, because that’s not the conversation opener he’s begun to expect from Harry. Then again, they’re in a new/old position: Merlin has a proper office again and Harry has a mission. His agent is currently staring at himself in a mirror, the top two buttons of his shirt undone to help combat the heat of Argentina, and he’s looking expectant, like he’s waiting for Merlin to respond.

“What sort of trade did you have in mind?” Merlin asks carefully, because he’s played this game with Harry for years, and the man is no less dangerous without most of his memories.

“You tell me something about us, and I tell you something I think I know about us. Something different.”

“Harry…” Merlin’s voice is low, a question and a warning together.

“I think I remembered you,” Harry says.

It takes Merlin a second to recall how to breathe. Quietly, he offers, “We’ve worked together in the field four times. The second time I got captured and missed the rendezvous time. It took you less than twelve hours to find me, and when you did your first words to me were ‘Never complain if I’m late for a date ever again.’”

There’s the familiar pause, but it’s followed by, “Our first kiss was in Paris.”

The air in the room disappears. Harry prompts uncertainty, “That’s right, isn’t it?”

It takes a great deal of effort for Merlin to force out a single word, “Yes.”

It’s enough for Harry to continue, “I’d finished up a mission, and you flew out to meet me. We’d been dating, maybe, two weeks? It was raining, and you were on the balcony of our hotel room, and I came out and kissed you.”

“That’s right,” Merlin swallows hard. His throat feels too tight, his mouth too small for his tongue.

“You had hair back then.”

It’s light enough to break the intense mood, and Merlin chokes out a laugh, “Aye. Christ, Harry, did you really remember that?”

“I did,” he says, and his voice is soft and pleased and hopeful. “It’s a very good memory.”

“Well, less good that I shouted at you afterward for kissing me in public. And then very good again when we shared the hotel bathtub.”

It’s Harry’s turn to chuckle. “I won't keep you. Just wanted to check in. I should get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow.”

Tomorrow Harry has to sneak into a heavily guarded complex, steal a very valuable microchip, plant a few microphones, and get out again without tripping any alarms. Busy day indeed. “Sleep well, Galahad.”

“Goodnight, Merlin,” Harry responds. He smiles into the mirror, then takes off his glasses and sets them on the nightstand where they belong.

Merlin watches Harry fall asleep, drinks in the little twitches of his nose as his breathing evens out and the way his brow smooths and loses the worry creases as his body relaxes. Then he shuts off the video, leaves the audio running in his ear, and goes to take his own little nap. Harry needs a handler tomorrow, and that means Merlin needs to be sharp and well-rested too. He falls asleep more easily than he has in a long time, with the sound of Harry's steady breathing echoing over the link, and dreams of Paris and rain.

***

“I’ll trade you.”

Merlin wonders if this is shaping up to be Harry’s next catchphrase. He turns to see Harry hovering in the balcony doorway, his hands in his pockets. When he catches Merlin’s eye, Harry wanders out onto the balcony and leans over the edge, watching the candidates running laps. They only really have three agents left, plus Arthur and Merlin (and, thankfully, a good deal of the tech and handling departments), so a lot of old tradition has been thrown out in favour of filling their ranks as quickly as possible. Merlin’s actually fairly pleased with Eggsy’s proposals; like Harry, the boy knows how to recognize potential in unlikely places, and it’s made for some new skill sets that Merlin has to accommodate in the trials.

“How was the flight home?” Merlin asks.

“Dreadful,” Harry says. “Lots of turbulence. I’m glad to be back on solid ground.”

“You did well, going back in the field.”

“You were worried.” It’s not a question.

“I always worry,” Merlin admits, “but this time especially, yes.”

“I seem to be capable of doing with one eye what a great deal of people can’t do with two.” There’s a hint of smugness in the words.

“Wasn’t so much your eye that worried me as the memory loss. Not to mention, you still can get a bit jumpy under the right circumstances. Didn’t need you going off on me and blowing your cover because someone touched you unexpectedly.”

“I’ve been doing much better,” Harry points out. “I was cleared for field work, after all.”

He was, officially, although the psychiatrists at Kingsman had been reluctant to do so. “Doesn’t stop me from worrying,” Merlin says.

He starts when Harry touches his wrist. It’s a subtle gesture, certainly not one any of the candidates can see from the ground if they happened to look up, but it’s still a surprise. Merlin can’t recall if Harry has touched him at all since he’s come back, other than that first handshake. “I’m fine,” Harry says softly. “I’m safe. You needn’t worry about me.”

Merlin manages a flippant eye roll to disguise the churning in his stomach, “Until the next mission, you mean.”

“Your name is Ian.”

It’s an abrupt shift in topic, but it’s clearly important to Harry. Merlin blinks in surprise, his stomach suddenly full of pit vipers. He manages not to choke on the one sliding down his throat when he confirms, “It is.”

“It took you fifteen years to admit it to me,” Harry continues. He looks fairly confident in it, but there’s the hint of uncertainty that tinges all his recovered memories. “You told me you liked Merlin better because it didn’t remind you of your family. You were named for your father.”

Merlin isn’t sure he wants to have this conversation again, especially since he’s supposed to be watching the trainees. “I was,” he says simply.

Harry’s hand on his wrist tightens minutely, forcing Merlin to look at him again. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, “but I’d like to know.”

Merlin sighs, “My family wasn’t exactly accepting of...people like me, so I grew up hiding a lot about myself. Not just the fact that I was gay, either. I was too smart for my own good, as far as they were concerned. My father especially was a bully, and he never seemed to care about me except when he thought I was doing something wrong. Which was often. I left home the day I turned eighteen. Joined the RAF, then got recruited to Kingsman. Having Merlin as a title was a godsend. It meant I didn’t have to use my father’s name anymore.” Merlin is vaguely aware that his knuckles are white from how hard his fists are clenched, but all his focus is on Harry.

The other man looks apologetic, and he releases Merlin’s wrist. “I’m sorry.”

Merlin shrugs, a casual gesture that doesn’t match the nest of snakes writhing in his stomach, “I’ve mostly put it behind me.”

Harry hesitates, and then draws Merlin into a quick hug. It’s over before Merlin can make his body respond, and then Harry is stepping back. “Tell me something happy,” he says. “Fair trade.”

Merlin’s relieved for the change in topic, and responds immediately, “You love Halloween. You dress up and everything. A few years ago you wore this ridiculous devil/angel costume, one of the slutty ones meant for women? You spent about as much of the night texting me pictures and cheesy pickup lines as you did handing out candy, and then you came over and we watched _Rocky Horror Picture Show._ ”

Harry smiles, “I look forward to remembering that.” He leans in and pecks Merlin softly on the cheek, and then slips back through the doorway. Merlin stares after him and almost forgets about the runners on the ground below.

***

“I’ll trade you.”

Merlin can’t help the eye roll, because Harry has a cheeky grin on his face and a bottle of wine in his hand and at least this time he’s arrived on Merlin’s doorstep at a reasonable hour. Merlin lets him in, and Harry settles himself on the couch while Merlin fetches a pair of wine glasses from the kitchen.

“What’d you remember this time?” Merlin asks as he sits across from Harry, on the couch instead of the armchair but still with plenty of space between them. The kiss is still fresh in his mind, and from the way Harry’s smirking, the memory is probably one of a more...risqué nature.

“Rio de Janeiro.”

“You’ve been there twice,” Merlin says.

“I would have been in my late twenties, I think? Carnival was going on, the mission had something to do with an assassination attempt. But the mission wasn’t the interesting part of the memory.”

It’s relatively hard to make Merlin blush, not that that has deterred either pre- or post-amnesia Harry from trying his best to make it happen, and he wins this time because Merlin’s cheeks flame red. “Oh,” he says, very softly, his mouth suddenly dry as the desert.

Harry’s smirk deepens, “You remember it too, I see.”

“Hard to forget.” There had been feathers involved.

“I had no idea I was such a tease.”

It’s clear from his voice that Harry knew exactly how much of a little shit he can be in the bedroom, or at least, if he didn’t know, it’s no surprise to him. “You’re a bloody exhibitionist,” Merlin says.

“And you’re a bit of a voyeur.”

“That tends to happen in a relationship where partners often find themselves thousands of miles away from each other.”

Harry prowls forward, far too graceful for a man in his fifties and recently short an eye. Merlin doesn’t move. He lets Harry slide into his lap, curl his fingers around the back of Merlin’s neck, and press a kiss to his lips. His blood heats, and he can’t help but return the kiss, threading his fingers through Harry’s carefully tamed hair with abandon. Harry presses closer, nipping gently at Merlin’s bottom lip in a silent request.

And then Merlin remembers. He groans and pushes Harry away. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Harry’s remarkably determined, wriggling in a _very_ distracting way and leaning in for another kiss.

Merlin leans back, this time depositing Harry back on the sofa so he’s no longer in Merlin’s lap. “You don’t remember me.”

“I remember enough.”

Merlin rubs a palm over his face, trying to calm his body down. “ _I_ can’t do this,” he says.

Harry blinks. “What?”

“I have thirty years of memories of us, Harry. You have snapshots, pieces you’re still trying to fit together. I remember our whole relationship, how we fell in love. I know everything about you, and you know almost nothing about me. I can’t just sleep with you and pretend that it’s all okay. I love you, and you don’t love me back, not like you used to, and I _can’t do this_.”

Silence falls between them, one of the tensest silences Merlin’s every experienced with Harry.

Harry breaks it first, “Merlin…I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Merlin says bitterly. “It’s not your bloody fault. It’s no one’s fault but Valentine’s, and he’s dead.” There’s no one to blame, and that’s the worst part, that Merlin is still as much in love with Harry as ever and Harry’s only getting the highlights of their relationship and there’s no one left to blame for it. It’s not fair, and while Merlin is used to life not being fair, it stings anyway.

“I love you.” The words are whispered, and Merlin closes his eyes.

“Do you?” he asks. “Because it took you five fucking years to so much as say those words to me, and it took me another two before I could say them back. Not that you remember that.”

“I...yes, I do. At least, I think I do. Merlin-”

“I think you should leave.”

Harry reels back like Merlin’s punched him, “Merlin-”

“Get out, Harry.” Merlin stands up, shoves the wine bottle back into Harry’s hand. The other man doesn’t move, still staring up at Merlin from his spot on the sofa.

“This is what you do, isn’t it?” Harry asks, and he’s not playing nice anymore. There’s a bite to his voice that Merlin recognizes from every fight they’ve ever had. “You run away and hide. You ran from your family and you hid from Kingsman and now you’re running and hiding from me.”

“You want running?” Merlin spat. “I’ll tell you something about _us_ , Harry. You proposed to me. You proposed, and I said no, and then a fucking week later you got shot in the head. I ran from you because I was scared, and you went to Kentucky and I got to think you were dead for two fucking years. You were the love of my life, but we weren’t even together when you got shot. Because I was too busy _running_.”

Harry stares at him. Then, without a word, he stand up and walks out. Merlin doesn’t move until he hears the front door slam shut, and then he collapses onto the sofa and drops his head into his hands.

***

_Some things about us:_

  * _Your favourite colour is brown. I laughed when you told me, I said that brown was no one’s favourite colour, but you insisted that it was yours. Because it was the colour of my eyes._
  * _I got the flu and was sick during our seventh anniversary. You took a few days off work and looked after me. It’s one of the only “vacations” you’ve ever taken._
  * _Of those four field missions together, the other three were:_
    * _An undercover operation in Denmark where we got snowed in for five days. I said we didn’t need the heater because you gave off more than enough heat to keep me warm._
    * _Tracking a rogue agent in Berlin. You shot him and couldn’t sleep that night. I asked if it was because you weren’t used to killing, and you told me “Killing him was the easy part. The hard part was that he almost killed you.” So. Finally figured out what that scar was._
    * _Your first Lancelot trials. You thought I was too invested in Eggsy because I felt guilty. You were right, but I never said so to your face._
  * _When Mr. Pickle died, you were the one who suggested having him stuffed. I think you were joking, because you referenced the butterflies, but you didn’t complain when I did it anyway._
  * _We’ve officially broken up twice. The first time we had been together two years, and I was angry that you didn’t want to talk about your past. I thought you didn’t trust me. It lasted a week before I decided that I was being an idiot, and we got back together. The other time, as you said, was after I proposed._
  * _I had those rings for four years before I got up the nerve to ask you. It broke my heart when you said no._



Merlin stares at the note, resting innocuously on top of his clipboard like it hadn’t just run his heart through a paper shredder. It wasn’t there a few minutes ago when Merlin went to fetch a cup of coffee, which means Harry can’t be far away.

He finds him in the Kingsman library, sprawled out in one of the armchairs. Harry’s tie is undone, hanging loose around his neck, and he has a glass of whiskey in his hand, staring at it like it holds secrets. Given the last bottle of whiskey Merlin opened at Kingsman, he wouldn’t be entirely surprised if it did.

“Can I sit?” Merlin asks.

Harry nods but doesn’t look at him, and Merlin takes a seat. “I’m sorry about last night,” Merlin says.

“Don’t be,” Harry says. “I forget-” He cuts himself off, laughs. “I forget sometimes that I’m not the only one who’s been affected by what happened in Kentucky. I understand why you reacted the way you did.”

“Still doesn’t excuse it.”

“Maybe not,” Harry agrees, “but I think we should put that behind us. We have a great deal of history, after all.”

Merlin gestures with the list, “You remembered all this?”

“That, and a few other things. It’s far from thirty years’ worth of memories, but it’s a start.”

Merlin lets the silence stretch between them as he thinks, and then he says, “We can’t go out to eat anywhere, not because I’m afraid to be seen in public with you but because you’re a food snob and you inevitably spend half the meal complaining about it.” Harry looks up, but Merlin keeps going, “I didn’t tell you when my birthday was when we first got together, and you wanted to know so badly that you brought me a cupcake with a candle in it every day for a month before I gave in and told you. You convinced me to get another dog after Mr. Pickle died, one that was both of ours, but she ran away when she was two and we never found her. When you turned thirty, you threw an “I can’t believe I’m not dead yet” party at Kingsman and we ended up snogging in a broom closet. You would never admit you like football, but if I’ve got a match on when you’re over you won’t let me turn it off until the game is finished. And you’re a cuddler; if I get into bed with you, I can expect you won’t let me get up until morning, and even then maybe not.”

The silence falls again. Harry blinks, like he’s waiting for Merlin to keep going, but when Merlin doesn’t say anything else, he asks, “What was all that?”

Merlin shrugs, “You gave me six things. I gave you six back. Fair trade, right?”

Harry’s lips curl into a smile, “Yes, but if I’m not much mistaken, one of those six things was actually three different things. So really, I think you owe me two more.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, but he smiles too. “Once when you missed the Kingsman plane taking you home, you asked me to meet you at the airport with a sign and a chauffeur hat and we had sex in the backseat of a Kingsman limo. We were in our late forties.”

Harry laughs, and reminds Merlin, “That’s only one.”

“I can count.” Merlin thinks for another moment, and then says, “After Prague, when you were having nightmares, I sung you to sleep a few times. After that, you’d sometimes ask me to sing for you after a hard mission. I don’t have a great singing voice, but I could never deny you that.”

It’s a little more serious, and it sobers both of them up. Harry sets down his glass. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin sighs. “I can’t stop loving you any more than I can stop breathing.”

“I am remembering things,” Harry says. “It’s not as much or as fast as I would like, but they are coming back to me. I’d like...I know you might still be worried about people knowing about us, but I’d like to move in with you.”

“I don’t give a fuck if people know about us,” Merlin says. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I lost you for two years because I was afraid of what people might think. I’m done being afraid. So yeah. Yeah, you can move in with me.”

“I think I’ll probably start out in the guest room,” Harry warns. “You’re probably right; the emotions involved here are all very messy and it probably won’t help if we jump into having sex. So...we’ll try it out. See what happens. And as I remember more…”

“We’ll see,” Merlin agrees.

“Exactly.”

***

Merlin almost jumps when he feels a pair of arms wrap around him from behind, bracing for an attack, but Harry murmurs, “Just me” in his ear, and Merlin relaxes.

“One of these days, I’m going to lay you out for startling me like that,” Merlin warns him.

Harry laughs, disengaging and dropping down onto the sofa next to Merlin, cuddling into his side like the octopus he is. “I’d like to see you try.”

“You’ve never beaten me in a sparring match yet.”

“Oh yes I did,” Harry flicks Merlin’s shoulder. “The first time you ran trials for Bors.”

“Damn,” Merlin jokes. “I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that.”

“It’s not nice to lie to a recovering amnesiac, you know,” Harry admonishes him, but he presses a kiss to Merlin’s cheek anyway. It’s taken a lot for them to be able to joke about this, but Merlin’s very glad that they can.

Merlin tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair, stroking through it gently. Harry leans his head against Merlin’s shoulder and closes his eyes, pressing into the touch. And it is eyes, plural. Designing things is what Merlin does, and it only took a little collaboration with medical to outfit Harry with a cybernetic eye that functions even better than his real one. He still wears the eyepatch occasionally, mostly because he’s a giant dork. He was a pirate for Halloween, but Merlin point blank refused to dress up as a parrot to match him. Few though they are, there are still some things Merlin won’t do for Harry.

“Tell me something about us,” Harry says lazily into Merlin’s shoulder.

“I think I’m starting to run out,” Merlin admits. Between what Harry’s remembered and what Merlin’s told him, they’ve covered a lot of their history in the past few months.

“That’s good, right?”

“I think so,” Merlin says. He presses a kiss to the top of Harry’s head, and then says, “But I do have something.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Merlin stands up, Harry making a noise of displeasure at being separated from his human body pillow, but Merlin doesn’t acknowledge it. He presses the button under the mirror, and the panel in the mantle slides open. Harry leans forward, watching with interest as Merlin takes something out. He’s careful to hide it, though. Merlin moved the box down here when Harry moved into his... _their_ room officially so the nosy spy wouldn’t find and recognize it. He palms it and sits back down on the couch next to Harry.

“When I was a kid,” he begins, “I always thought I’d die alone. I couldn’t fathom that there’d ever be anyone I loved so openly and without fear that I could spend the rest of my life with them.”

“To be fair, you spent the first thirty years with a great deal of fear and without much openness,” Harry points out.

Merlin rolls his eyes, “My point is, the day I met you, I took one look and fell hard.” Harry smiles so sweetly, and Merlin can’t help but add, “Of course, you immediately opened your mouth and I realized what a little shit you were.”

“I’m a delight,” Harry says with a straight face.

“You’re a terror and you know it,” Merlin says. “But you’re my terror.”

“You’re being horribly sappy.”

“Fine,” Merlin says. He presses the box into Harry’s hand. “You do it, then.”

Harry’s eyes widen as he looks down at the box, “Is this…?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you giving me these?”

“Well,” Merlin drawls, “I _was_ going to propose, but apparently I was being too sappy for you.” He offers Harry a small smile, “Probably only fair that you do it, though. All things considered.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Harry stares at Merlin.

“That’s a first,” Merlin teases him.

Harry elbows him, but there’s a grin on his face, “Just shut up and marry me already.”

“I think I will,” Merlin lets Harry slide the ring onto his finger, and then pulls his fiancé in for a kiss.

Another thing that butterflies represent is change. Merlin’s spent a lot of his life adapting to change because he had no other choice. This change, though? This is one he’s looking forward to.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Something About You (I can't let go) | Fanmix](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13021029) by [Mang_o](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mang_o/pseuds/Mang_o)




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